The Highway Stop
by Platinum Express
Summary: Sometimes, you remember someone so much better just because you hate them.


**THE HIGHWAY STOP**

'Well, well,' said the girl, in a matter-of-fact tone. 'Sirius Black?'

He turned and surveyed her. 'Do I know you?' he asked, briefly. She looked unfamiliar, with a tanned, narrow face, and a mop of hair knotted unceremoniously behind her head. A black stud glimmered in her nose.

She took a deliberate sip of coffee, and murmured, 'You used to.'

There was something oddly coy and flirtatious in the way she said it. Sirius rather liked the sound of it; it made him think he had a chance. He eyed her appreciatively one more time, noticing the well-shaped but darkened lips, the narrow collar bones, and the way she was smoking languidly, at ease with herself and the world around. Brilliant, he decided.

'You're not being very specific,' he said, moving towards her. 'Mind if I sit down?'

In response, she gestured vaguely to the chair facing her, and he took it, feeling a little conscious as it scraped across the floor. This place they were in- a cafe, with pumpkin colored walls and a crowded assortment of wall hangings, possibly on the edge of a highway- was surprisingly quiet, although it was rather late at night for customers. But she didn't seem to mind. She simply smiled at him, and said, 'So, we meet again.'

'Have we met before, then?'

'Several times, and in the most compromising of ways. Don't you remember?'

He shook his head, feeling foolish. 'I really don't,'

'It's alright,' she said, soothingly, taking another sip of coffee. 'I didn't expect you to. You see, we weren't very close.'

'We weren't?'

'Not really. We only slept together.'

'Oh,' he said. He wasn't sure whether to continue. He didn't really recall what type she was- the practical kind, or the kind that wept.

'You needn't worry,' she said, sounding amused. 'I'm not going to cry. I didn't at that time either, if I recall right. Right up to the end.'

He heaved a sigh of relief. 'How long ago was it again?'

'I don't remember,' she said, honestly.

He sighed, and glanced around, wishing he had a cup of coffee. She noticed his wandering gaze, and pushed her own cup in front of him.

'Have a sip,' she said, encouragingly.

'No, that's yours.'

'We can share. It's considered a polite thing to do, over here.'

He smiled, and took a sip of the coffee. It was exactly the way he liked it, sweet and milky, with a drop or two of vanilla.

'This place makes good coffee,' he said.

She smiled. 'We meet after so long, and all you want to talk about is coffee?'

'I'm sorry,' he said, apologetically, 'It's just that I don't remember, which makes me sadly wanting for conversation.'

She chuckled. 'You have a very British sense of humor,' she said, in a faintly delighted voice. But it wasn't the delight of discovery- it was the delight of recognition.

'Did I have it always?'

'Since I first met you. It's a shame you don't remember. It was a lovely time, in some ways.'

'Tell me about it,' he said, quietly. He took another sip of sweet coffee, and pushed the mug back towards her. 'You seem to remember it very clearly.'

She said, seriously, 'I'll never forget.'

'Would you tell me, then? It's been ages since I rediscovered a past fling.'

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if the word would offend her, but she laughed.

'Do you really want to hear about it?' she asked, echoes of amusement resounding in her voice.

Sirius spread his hands. 'We have all the time in the world,' he said, by way of answer.

* * *

'When did it start?' he asked, curiously.

'In two different places. You see, we weren't like normal couples- or whatever it is we were.'

'Let's call it pseudo-couple,' Sirius suggested. The word was pretentious, but fit what he had in mind.

'Very well, then. Most couples- or pseudo-couples- share stories that are like threads. Long, rambling threads that etch across time. They're thicker in parts, where their love- or sex- was strong, tapering off to thin strands when there are fights and divorces.'

'What about ours?'

'Our thread broke,' she said, a little sadly. 'It came off in two separate pieces. It came off because of time, I suppose, and hurt. Not enough to tie together a love story.'

'What does that mean?'

'We had two beginnings, don't you see? I met you first when I was thirteen, and you were thirty three, which made it all very strange.'

'Was I like a father to you?'

She smiled. 'No, you mostly ignored me. I don't think you liked me very much. I wasn't very beautiful as a child.'

Sirius would have liked to protest that he didn't judge girls by their faces, but he knew it wasn't true.

'We knew each other like that- strange, cross-generation acquaintances- for a few years, and then you left England. You went to Paris. Don't you remember?'

Sirius's eyes lit up. 'Of course I do,' he said, tenderly, 'I had the loveliest time of my life. Paris was beautiful.'

A shadow of hurt crossed her face, and he knew what she was thinking.

_You remember Paris, but you don't remember me?_

'What happened then?' he asked quickly, trying to nudge away her pain. 'Did you come there with me?'

She shook her head. 'Oh, no. I was still at school. You came back to England, but I was twenty by then. I worked at the Ministry, for the Wizengamot. You came back, and we met at Molly's Christmas party. Oh, yes, I _thought _you wouldn't remember Molly. It was our second beginning. Do you remember that?'

He nodded. 'Vaguely. There were a lot of pretty lights, and a big tree. George wore a red hat.'

'He thought it was hilarious,' said the girl, with a pretty chuckle. She took another sip of coffee. 'You probably don't remember this, either, but you kissed me at that party.'

He looked surprised. 'I did?'

'You trapped me under a doorway, and said, "Mistletoe. You know what the tradition is, don't you?" I kissed you, of course, I'd wanted to forever, but I looked up later and there wasn't any mistletoe there. It flattered me somehow, that you wanted to kiss me so badly you'd make a petty lie out of it. I think that's when I fell in love with you.'

Sirius frowned. 'So fast?'

'I never was good with my emotions,' she confessed. 'You made me happy, and that made me love you. That's why I remember you, even now. You never forget someone you love.'

Her unspoken words hung thinly in the air. _But you don't remember me._

'What happened after that?' asked Sirius, a trifle uncomfortably.

'I followed you around, of course. It was puppy love, Sirius, an infatuation, but so, _so_ serious to me. I sometimes wished you'd understand how I felt about you, but I don't think you ever did. It amused you, I suppose. At that time, it just seemed like you were being cold to me. And after kissing me at Christmas, Sirius! You broke my heart.'

She was asking for it. 'Seems like it takes very little to break your heart,' he said, snidely.

'It takes very little to break yours too,' she said.

He blinked. 'It _can_'_t _be.'

'Do you want to hear the story?'

He nodded.

'Well, there I was. I cried, I was upset, I thought I'd never love again. But I was a child of twenty, Sirius, and I didn't understand love. The kiss we shared was simply a moment of amusement to you, perhaps a quick impulse. But it was so different for me. If you could only know what it felt like, to have your hands on my cheek, and feel your mouth- and the way you smiled, like I was the most important thing in your world. It was like you put me on a pedestal just to break it down again.'

Sirius squirmed in his seat. This was becoming painfully personal.

'I just kissed you,' he said, a little lamely.

She chose to ignore that.

'I met someone else, you know. His name was Ronald Weasley. Do you remember Ron? He was tall, very freckled. He had lots of red hair.'

Sirius frowned. 'Yes,' he said, finally, 'He was a nice boy.'

'So you say, now. Ron and I started to date, and two weeks after that you came and told me that you loved me.'

Sirius blinked. '_What?'_

'Yes, that's how surprised I was, too. After months of pining after you, I finally meet someone I care for and trust, and you broke my world up again. At that time, I thought it was because seeing me with Ron made you jealous: all that fiery passion that romance novels talk about. Now, I've changed my mind.'

'What do you think, now?'

'I think you were just toying with me. I think it amused you infinitely that a little girl was infatuated with you. It made you feel powerful, wrapping me around your little finger.' She took another sip of coffee, and said, 'I hate you for that.'

He blinked in surprise. Up until now, her tone had been cool and impassive.

'I thought you remembered me because you loved me,' he said, puzzled.

She smiled. 'It can work both ways. You remember people you hate, too.'

He shook his head with confusion. 'What did I do to you?' he asked, listlessly.

'I left Ron, of course, came straight to you. The first time we had sex, it hurt like hell. I was a virgin, you see. I didn't bleed though.'

He frowned. 'Really?'

'That's right. It was my first time, and it hurt, but the entire while little stars were popping behind my eyes because I knew that I was sharing this with you. It didn't matter that the pain between my legs was like an ice-pick, as long as it was _your_ hands that were moving over my skin, _your _mouth on my ear. I didn't finish, but sort of floated off towards the end. When we were done, you accused me of lying about being a virgin because I didn't bleed.'

'I did?'

'You told me I was too young to behave like a whore. I was so ashamed, Sirius. I wished with all my might that I had bled, even a few drops, just to prove to you that I was a virgin. But you didn't believe it, kept asking me, again and again, until I gave up and said, '_Yes, you're right, I'm not a virgin. Ron and I slept together_.' You didn't talk to me for a week.'

Sirius inhaled.

'Sometimes,' she continued, 'It was like I just couldn't win around you. You accused me of so many things, Sirius. Of lying, of cheating, of taking drugs. My denials seemed to fall flat against your ears, so I just started accepting what you said, nodding dumbly, because I knew that after you got angry and threw things around, you would get drunk and then come and fuck me. It's like my entire day led up to the point where you would grab at me and rip at my panties. It's like I lived for that.'

She shook her head, sorrowfully.

'You told me you loved me,' she said, and there was regret in her voice, 'So many times, Sirius. But you were never there. I don't think you understand how I really felt about you. Infatuations can seem like petty like things, but when they're fed with a mixture of indulgence and abstinence, they become more dangerous than an ice-pick.'

Sirius said, thoughtfully, 'Is that a favorite term of yours?'

'What is?'

'Ice-pick?'

She laughed. 'Oh, you brought me one home as a present, once. It was our first anniversary, the only time you brought me a gift. It was made of some black metal, with a carved wooden handle and a thick band of silver around it. We hung it on a peg in the living room wall.'

'Did we move in together?' he asked, surprised.

She nodded. 'You needed someone to do your dishes, you see?'

'That seems harsh.'

'It's true. But I still loved you. I loved you so much that I felt I could lie and cheat and fight for you.'

'Did you do those things?'

'Don't you remember Jacob Cavendish?'

'I can't say that I do.'

'He was your boss, at the Ministry. You called him home for dinner once, and he grabbed my bum when I served him the soup. Later on, when it came about time for you to get your promotion, you asked me to dress up in that tight red dress we bought together at the mall, and go to his office. You came with me, made me sit down on Jacob's couch. He served me coffee, horrible sweet coffee. You remember I never drank it with milk and sugar? Of course you wouldn't. When he put his hand between my legs, you told me to relax. I let the man fuck me, Sirius. I spread my legs for him, and you got your promotion.'

Sirius remained silent.

'It got worse. There was a redhead. You brought her home once, and I caught both of you. Oh, it hurt.'

'Why didn't you leave me?' he asked, quietly.

She shrugged, and said, 'I loved you.'

'That much?'

'More than anything. You were my prince.'

'What happened then?'

'I got used to it after a while,' she said, softly, 'I pretended I didn't know about the redhead. I pretended the thing with Jacob didn't happen. I learned not to expect anything of you, Sirius. You fucked me, and that was enough. That was all you could give me. So I thought of something different.'

He frowned.

'I wanted a baby. I was sure a baby would bind you to me, keep you safe with me forever in a way you didn't understand. I took out my diaphragm, although I never told you. I tried, night after night, coaxing myself into orgasms because I heard that increased the chances, finding the right positions, not drinking or smoking. But month after month I got my period. It never stopped. Each time it happened, I cried, and you assumed it was just PMS.'

'Did you want a baby that badly?'

'More than anything in the world.'

'We never had one?'

'No. The redhead got pregnant instead.'

'_What?_'

'I think there was something wrong with me, Sirius. I never could conceive. But you forgot your condom once, and the redhead got pregnant. I don't think you loved her either, because you obviously don't remember her, but perhaps it was the promise of the child that drew you to her. You wanted to leave me.'

'Did I?'

'We haven't seen each other in a while, have we?'

He kept silent. 'What happened?'

'You told me while we were driving to Molly's, for dinner. It was stupid, because I was driving. I think you were a little drunk. You had had a couple of vodka cocktails, and you told me everything right there, how she was pregnant, how you were going to leave me for her, how she was going to leave _her_ husband for you- and it was too much, Sirius. It was just too much. I listened to what you said, quietly, and sat through dinner, even more quietly. People asked if I were ill. I said I had a touch of 'flu, and that was that. We drove back home in silence.'

'What happened then?'

'Don't you remember, Sirius? We _died _on the way back.'

Sirius frowned. He rummaged about inside him for the sense of shock he had come to expect, but he didn't find it. Slow understanding crept upon him: he had known all along what it was like.

'We did,' he said, slowly, 'That's why we're here, isn't it? Because we died.'

She nodded. 'I was wondering when you'd realize.'

'What happened?'

'A car accident.'

'How long ago?'

She shook her head. 'Time has no meaning here. It's only been a few seconds since we reached.'

'But- but we've been talking for ages!'

She kept silent.

He paused for a moment, and then said, 'I guessed, actually. Something made me think.'

'What was that?'

'You said you never drank your coffee sweet.'

She nodded, understandingly. 'Ah. It's milk and sugar for you, isn't it, with two drops of vanilla?'

'You _remember?'_

'I told you, when you love someone, you remember them over here.'

'And when you hate them,' Sirius said, absently.

She nodded, and drained the last of the coffee. 'I have to go,' she said, quietly.

'Must you?'

'I have places to be.'

'And me?'

'You'll find out,' she said, 'You'll remember very, very soon,' and with a swish of her skirt, she was gone.

Her perfume remained, something spicy and woodsy, and Sirius meditated on it, waiting for some flash of memory. Anything- he prayed for, searching into the dark recesses of his mind, of the past- anything.

_A dark, winding road, the edge of the hill._

It came to him blurry, but he immediately recognized what it was. The night he died. His heart- if it still was a heart- leapt with excitement, and he pursued that memory, like pulling at the the threads she had just been talking about.

_Rain- soft drizzles- a harsh wind- they had been arguing, then she went quiet, a sharp bend in the road, and then- home-_

_Home?_

He frowned, confused, but the image of the little cottage in which he and the girl stayed came to him a little clearer than the earlier ones, tinged with strong emotion. It was white, gabled, wings crowded together, and ivy growing up one wall.

But- but she said they had died on the way-

_They were in the living room now, sitting on armchairs, and he said, 'Well? Say something.'_

_'I have nothing to say,'- _Oh, so familiar a voice.

_'Maybe it's just as well.'_

_'Molly Weasley?' her voice was high-pitched._

_'Ah, I thought you'd have something to say. Couldn't shut up, ever, could you-?'_

_She got up, walked around the room, but he kept talking._

_'Lie, too, you do. Lied about being a virgin. Lied about so many things, Hermione. How can you expect me to stay with you?'_

Hermione. Her name had been Hermione.

_He heard a little click behind him. It didn't register at the time._

_'You're a lying, sniveling, slutty bitch, and I don't think I-'_

_He heard a noise behind him and turned. His mouth fell open._

_'Herms, put that down.'_

_She moved towards him, the ice-pick in her hand._

_'Hermione, put that down.'_

_'I hate you,' she said, quietly, and struck. The blow landed on his chest, and splintered his thick, pulsing heart into two. The last thing he saw as it broke was her turning around, and jabbing the black, gleaming monster into her own chest._

He realized now why he remembered so clearly, all of a sudden. It was because, in that one moment when her face had twisted into a devilish snarl, and her hand had crashed the ice pick into his chest with all her might, he had hated her more than anybody in the entire world.


End file.
